Distasteful Profession
by REATEN.123
Summary: John is a new officer in the London Homicide unit. He's teamed up with a very eccentric Blood Spatter Analyst in forensics named Sherlock. They're working together to find who killed Mary Morstan and many others and the truth will have John speechless.


"Officer Watson; Homicide. What do we have here?" John asked, showing his badge to another cop who was letting people through.

"A murder, obviously." Said a much taller man as he strolled right through, his black Trenchcoat flowing only a moment in his wake. John furrowed his eyebrows, and tried to walk after the man to demand ID, but he man allowing people to enter grabbed his shoulder and shook his head. "Right, well, who was that?" John asked, the man's harsh statement nagging in his mind. "Willam Holmes. He works in Forensics. He's the blood spatter analyst." The man explained. John nodded, half understanding. "How come he gets to walk through whenever he likes?" John asked, gesturing the paths the man passed through. "The man's insane." A woman said, passing by John's earshot. John turned around to see a black woman with Afro-like hair and in a pantsuit. "Theory's going around that he's killing these people, but we don't have any evidence of it. He's a psychopath. I'd stay away from him if I were you," She warned. John only but scoffed and went to the crime scene. William was there, setting up his camera.

"How do you think it happened?"John asked, placing his hands i his pockets. "He had an affair with a cop, which his partner, do to their bad background, didn't like. They grabbed the gun and shot him. Once they realized what they'd done, they went to the nearest hood and got shot there." He said, gesturing to everywhere in the space the suspect went. "How do you know they were a cop?" John asked, scratching his head. William scoffed. "Ugh, l matched up the serial number and ran the registration on the murder weapon. Finger prints don't match the cop so we have to assume that whoever's fingerprints are on the gun, is the murderer." He said, looking rather tired of having to explain the details of the scene. "But, isn't that the murder weapon, there?" John asked, gesturing to the gun on the ground. "Indeed," William confirmed. "How did you 'Match it up' if it's not even in evidence?" John asked, looking skeptically at the tall, pale man. "John, I can't really explain it to you, and not going to do it for anyone else, but my brain is like a hard drive that I can either delete or store my information in. Whatever helps with the job," He said. William went back to taking pictures when John muttered, "Amasing," under his breath. William froze, slowly turning to John.

John held out his hand for William to shake. "John Watson, you are William, I was told..?" William rolled his eyes and let a groan out of his throat. "Technically, yes. My first name is William, but I go by Sherlock. So, please," He said, giving the death glare to the man letting people through, who simply smiled and waved devilishly. "Stay away from Anderson," Sherlock said, "He's a simpleton." John looked back from Anderson to Sherlock, who had already began walking to the Detective Inspector, Greg Lestrade.

"John Watson, was it? How's your first case since you've been back?" Greg asked. Sherlock's eyes widened then he chuckled as if he forgot something. "That's what I meant to ask," Sherlock recalled with a sigh, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" He asked, making John a bit nervous. "Uh, p-pardon..?" John stuttered. "Never mind, it doesn't bother me any. What did you see in there, John?" Sherlock asked. Greg looked at the two of them strangely. "Since when were you two on first name basis..?" He asked, putting his hands on his hips. "Since when is Anderson allowed to give first names to newbies?" Sherlock retaliated, copying Greg's actions by placing his hands on his hips. Greg sighed and walked over to Anderson. After a pretty heated conversation between those two, the woman who warned Joh about Sherlock before, ran up to Greg and whispered something to him. He then told Anderson, and the three of them began jogging to their police cars.

John did his best to catch up with them and asked them what it was about. "We got a dead body in an alleyway, bad part of town." Greg said getting into his car. John slowed to a halt. He looked back to Sherlock, who was simply smirking. He walked with a confident stride that John swore, not even the noblest of soldiers could have. John knew; he was a soldier. Fought in The Afghanistan War, which is why he was so skeptical when Sherlock gave him an option of Afghanistan or Iraq.

"This is the murderer, then?" John asked as he stood next to Sherlock as he, himself was taking mental notes and pictures of the crime scene. "Yes, which, undoubtably makes my job a lot harder," Sherlock said with a frown. "How hard can your job be? Gotta take photographs, do a report, sample and match DNA, and most of it is in this mind computer of yours..." John scoffed. "Mind Palace, John. And, I have, unfortunately, family to attend to, as well. So, as much as I would like, I can't possibly live at my work station. Although, that would be rather inefficient of me.." Sherlock said, rambling on a shade too long for John's liking. It was pointless chatter to the both of them. "So... You got kids?" John asked. "I wasn't aware we went onto such a topic of conversation," Sherlock said, looking at the picture he had previously taken, before making a face, as if telling himself that it wasn't good enough. "You said you have a family to attend to at home, so I kind of thought..." John trailed off, assuming that Sherlock wasn't paying attention. "I have a kid," John said, almost so suddenly that it could've startled Sherlock for a moment, "One kid. Rosie, Named after her mother, Mary." This caught Sherlock's attention as he furrowed his eyebrows and looked at John. "She changed her name to hide from her old life..." John summarized, to which Sherlock nodded in response. "What, was she a criminal...?" Sherlock asked. John shrugged. "I don't know, but I don't think I really want to." He said. Sherlock half-shrugged as he took another picture. John noticed something and huddled closer to Sherlock.

"Wait. I've seen that before..!" John said, pointing to a mark on the victim's neck. "Smile in Red killer. Holy crap, I've only ever read about his 'Work,' but I can't believe I'm actually working on one of his cases...!" John seemed, excited. "That's what their calling him? Rather dull, if you ask me." Sherlock groaned as he approved a picture he took and moved onto another section of the victim's body. "When you find out his name, then I'll call him by it." John chuckled as he patted Sherlock on the back and stepped back, giving the man holding the camera some space to work.

Back at the station and the force was listing the names of those who they wanted on the case. "... Officer John Watson, and Blood Spatter Analyst William Holmes..." were the last two names said in the group. John was excited to finally have something to work on, but Sherlock, on the other hand, groaned and slammed his face into his desk. A minute or so later, someone was about to tap him on the shoulder to give him a file, when he quickly lifted his head, removed some kind paper weight, placed the file on top, and put the paper weiht back onto the pile. He smiled as the woman scurried off with fear and shyness on her face.

John settled into his new desk, which was across the room from the Blood Spatter Analysts offices that Sherlock had claimed as one bigger office for his work. John opened his laptop and began to read up on 'Smile in Red's' different unsolved cases. Time flew by faster and by the end of the day, John had notes upon notes written up on this guy, and he was plenty fatigued. He decided to spare the babysitter a half an hour and call her saying he was coming home within 20 minutes if nothing popped up. He never made any promises, since Smile in Red could leave another body at any time.

"Why are you working so hard on this lousy case, John?" A familiar voice asked. John jumped, looking up to se Sherlock looming above him. "Others might get killed," He said. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as if yelling at John for lying. "I already know why, but I want to hear you say it. Why are you working on such a dead end case?" He asked again, tone deepening in his voice as he pulled a chair from an empty desk and sat down, putting his shoulder bag on the ground.

"That man, he killed my wife. The woman I loved is now in the ground with one of these," John started shakily, going through a couple of papers until he aggressively held up a paper with a picture of a few victims' necks, gesturing directly to the signature smiley face in blood in the picture, "on her neck, Sherlock. I don't know what she did back when she was a criminal. I don't know if she deserved what she got, or what, but I know for a damn fact, that Rosie and I didn't deserve this. So, pray tell, Mr. Holmes," John said after breathing in heavily to calm himself, "Is it really so bad for me to want to get to the bottom of my wife's murder?" He asked, finally placing the papers back on the desk. John ran a hand through his hair, as he sighed. "Listen," Sherlock said, "I'm. It going to pretend to know how it feels, because I don't. Frankly, I cant feel at all. You're going to end up working yourself to death, and that's not good for me, because you're my only ally now. So, get home to Rosie, coddle her up, nice and cozy, and make her feel safe. For the both of you.." Sherlock said, almost with the slightest bit of emotion.

John looked at his work space and realized how impulsive he was acting on the subject. "You're right, Sherlock. I should be comforting my daughter, not trying to get myself killed, too."He agreed quietly. John stood up and put his laptop in his bag. He turned off the desk light and put his wind breaker on. John decided to walk out with Sherlock.

"My car's right over there, if you don't have a ride..." John offered. "Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked as he stopped walking. John turned around to look at Sherlock, a confused look twisted on his features. "Being all friendly towards me... You don't even know me," He said. John fully turned to look at Sherlock. "I do it because I know how it feels, to be undermined every second in my life. Mary never made me feel like I wasn't good enough. She made me feel as though I belonged. Then, she died," John explained with a faint smile until he mentioned her death.

Almost suddenly, spots of rain poured from the sky. Neither of the two broke eye contact. "You'll catch a cold," John said. "So will you," Sherlock said. John eyed Sherlock up and down. "Would you like a ride?" John asked, gesturing to his little car behind him. "When you put it like that, sure." Sherlock agreed, but only if John would have a quick cup of tea and talk. About what, John hadn't the slightest idea what. "Alright, but really quick, 'kay? Can't torture the babysitter too long..!" John said with a chuckle.


End file.
